No Excuse
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Sam calls a do-over. Missing scene for 4.05 Monster Movie. Set between the "rehymenated" scene in the bar and the Wolfman attack. Rated T for very minor language.


_Missing scene for episode 4.05, Monster Movie. I started this back when the episode aired, but just finished it now. Begins when Sam leaves the bar, ends right before the Wolfman attack._

_Thanks to geminigrl11 for her beta skills, as always._

_I own nothing. Reviews craved._

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**No Excuse**

_October 2008_

"Brother, I have been re-hymenated! And the dude will not abide..."

Sam rolled his eyes. "All right, _dude_. Well...you go do what you gotta do, and I'm gonna go back the room and get some sleep."

He left the table, freeing Dean to "hymenate" himself. _Or DE-hymenate, I guess_. _Geez...he's like a sailor on shore leave in New York_.

Stepping out of the bierhaus, Sam pulled his suit jacket a little tighter and set off down the sidewalk. It was warm for October, but damp. Fog was settling down over the streets and shops, granting an eerie, almost black-and-white horror movie look to the classic German architecture.

_Perfect setting for a Dracula movie... _

Sam shook himself. Stupid. It was just some goth, psycho, vampire wannabe, like Dean said. _Wasted trip_. He sighed and turned the corner, headed for the motel. His eyes wandered until they landed on a very un-German corner drug store, with a lighted beer sign and a few window posters for newly released DVDs.

Dean had thwarted his chance to get a beer at the bierhaus with that crack to the waitress.

_Oh, he doesn't drink. He's a Christian Scientist. He doesn't even take aspirin. He's a real drag on stakeouts._

_Christian Scientist, my ass_, Sam chided with a smirk. He crossed the street, intent on grabbing a beer to take back to the room. He might be spending the night alone in front of his laptop, but he could at least relax while he was doing it.

As he got closer, he slowed and read the window posters. Nothing he was interested in watching. _Get Smart_ looked funny, but wasn't out yet. Maybe he could find something to help pass the time.

_We need to see the new Raiders movie._

_I already have._

_Without me?_

_You were in Hell._

_That's no excuse!_

Sam regretted his sarcastic reply to Dean that afternoon. He'd smarted off because, lately, Dean responded better to attitude than contrition. But Sam would give anything now to take those words back.

Sam stared at the posters, his mind---as it always did these past few weeks---going back to May, and those agonizing weeks after Dean died.

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_May 2008_

_5 Months Earlier_

Three weeks had gone by since Dean's death, and besides burying the body, Sam had done little except drink more liquor than he had consumed in all his adult years combined.

He'd left Bobby's place nine days earlier, and had steadily ignored the phone since. Eventually, Bobby would stop trying and just let him be. That's what Sam wanted. He'd lost the one person in the world he truly cared about. Everyone else just needed to leave him alone. Sam wasn't safe. People died around him, and enough was enough.

The worst part was that there was no escape. Nothing that brought Dean back in the process, anyway. The damned crossroads demon wouldn't deal. Sam had made it pay for that, but he took no satisfaction.

He was a quarter of the way down a bottle of Jack. Jim and Jose were waiting patiently beside the bed. It would have been nice to have the television on, but it had made the mistake the day before of revealing his reflection.

No one would be watching it now.

Sam would have to remember to change credit cards once he moved on. This room's security deposit would be eating the rest of his balance.

A faint buzzing drew his attention to his cell, which was buried somewhere in the blanket. He had no idea what made him answer the phone this time. He didn't wait for Bobby to speak. "What do you want?"

"_Sam?"_

He frowned, not expecting a female voice. "Who is this?"

There was a pause on the other end. "_Jo. Jo Harvelle_."

That stopped Sam cold. Why would Jo, of all people, be calling _him_? Especially after that incident with Meg over a year earlier.

"_Sam...I heard about Dean. I'm so sorry. I know this isn't the best time, but I need your help_."

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_October 2008_

Sam wandered aimlessly down the snack aisle, twelve-pack in hand, scanning the shelves without really seeing them. He really didn't want anything spicy or greasy going to bed. He bypassed most of the potato chips and nachos. _A candy bar, maybe_... _No_. Distracted, he slowed to a stop at the end of the aisle, half-heartedly snagging a bag of pretzels to go with the beer.

It was Oktoberfest, after all.

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_May 2008_

He arrived at Jo's bar a little after 2 AM. The few times he'd driven since Dean died, he'd traveled at night. Sobriety was the last thing on his mind, and it was best to drive when few others were on the road. Sam hadn't been about to allow some two-bit local cop to impound the Impala.

The red neon closed sign glowed in the window. Sam ignored it and twisted the handle. It opened as expected. The front lot was empty, but Sam still cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder, to make sure he was alone, before entering.

Jo was waiting inside, standing by the bar with two people he didn't know. She hadn't mentioned anyone else over the phone. _I wonder if she's afraid of me after what Meg did_. Being possessed was excusable, but it was still _his _face that had murdered and tormented Meg's victims. Jo hugged him when he gets near, though, dispelling his concern, and whispered remorse over Dean. He didn't return the embrace, just patted her shoulder in consolation. Sam wasn't sure what else to do.

He listened and nodded politely when Jo introduced her friends to him. Hunters, Jo's age, boyfriend-girlfriend. Sam didn't bother telling them how their life together was likely to end. He also didn't bother remembering their names, just looked them over to see how much of a threat they might be. Trust had died with Dean. Like everything else. When Jo was finished, Sam sat at the bar. She offered him a drink while she and the others got their research from the back room.

"Leave the bottle," Sam muttered after Jo poured him a shot. She blinked at that, but said nothing.

The bottle was half-empty when they came back, and Sam had a nice, warm, memory-killing buzz going. Jo eyed him warily as she and her friends returned and gathered next to Sam at the bar. He frowned. They were surrounding him like students around a professor...like he knew anything that mattered to anybody. _Joke's on them_....

"We've been tracking something for almost six months. Ten people have been killed, all with their hearts torn out," Jo explained, spreading the newspaper clippings and maps out on the bar. "We think it might be a werewolf."

Sam glanced at the notes and immediately saw their mistake, even in his less-than-sober state. "Lunar cycle is wrong."

_Ask Madison, she knew all about lunar cycles. And how to tear someone's heart out_. So much for his buzz. Sam took another shot.

Jo nodded. Her two friends looked at the dates again. The girl poked the guy. "I _told _you."

"That's kinda what I thought," Jo said. "But, I don't know what else it could be."

Sam didn't say anything, letting her get to her point.

"Look, Sam...I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms last time…and you've been through a lot lately," Sam snorted. _Understatement_. "But, my mom's busy with her own hunt, and Bobby is busy. You're the only other experienced hunter that I trust."

Sam stared at her for a moment. _Heh...I guess the joke's on you, too_.

"Please, Sam. We need your help."

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_October 2008_

"Hey, watch it, buddy."

Sam jumped, stepping back from where he'd bumped the older man's shoulder.

"Sorry. I'm sorry...I didn't see you."

The old man grumbled, finished filling his fountain drink and moved on down the back aisle. Sam stood there, feeling foolish for getting so caught up in his thoughts. He glanced down. Beer, pretzels, sour strips...what else was he going to get?

He strolled up the aisle toward the front of the store.

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_May 2008_

Sam was right; it wasn't a werewolf. Though, by the time they were finished, Sam wished it had been. The hearts and the circumstances of the attacks were unmistakable: it was a daeva.

Jo and her friends had backtracked, finding not only a pattern to the attacks, but also a trail going back more than a year, leading southeast. When he found out, Sam had idly wondered if it was one of the two daevas Meg had loosed on them in Chicago---it seemed like a lifetime before. Both beasts had gotten away.

Sam groaned as Jo tightened another stitch. She glanced up at him with sympathy, tinged with rebuke.

"I told you not to go in alone."

"You didn't know what you were up against," Sam groused through clenched teeth. He had gone in alone to keep her and her friends alive. They were inexperienced hunters. Too young to be in a life like this. To be so willing to die. _They have no idea_....

"It could have killed you, Sam," Jo griped back, dabbing a wet towel against the rake-like gashes in his side and stomach.

He didn't reply. She was an adequate medic, but her bedside manner needed work.

"Tommy thought you were trying to get yourself killed," Jo volunteered. Her tone suggested she was trying to be funny, like she was keeping his mind off what she was doing. The sharp spikes of pain in his torso weren't so easily ignored.

She stopped stitching, looking up sharply when he didn't answer. "Sam...?"

He looked at her, expression blank. Apparently, he was supposed to say something to that, judging by the way her face paled at his silence. "Sam...were you---"

"Make sure to tie them off right, don't want them coming loose," Sam advised quietly, nodded toward the stitches. She finished up in silence, casting worried glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"There's a cot in the back. You need to lie down."

Jo's voice, despite her age, brooked no argument. She was a lot like her mother in that regard. Sam followed her wordlessly to the door behind the bar, snagging his bottle from earlier as he shuffled past.

She settled him onto the cot, ordered him to sleep, then left to check on her friends. Sam stayed on the cot, wrestling against the painkillers she'd given him earlier. He didn't want to sleep. Sleep let his memories run around free. There'd been enough of that in the past few weeks to set him for life. He'd be happy if he never needed to sleep again.

An hour later, he rose, fighting lightheadedness, and sat at a small table by the door. He kept one of the shotguns within reach, as usual. The wooden chair was murder on his back, but he managed to keep his side and stomach still so that the stitches wouldn't tear.

Time was hard to judge. He had his watch, but his lethargic limbs refused to turn, so he couldn't look at it. The alcohol, mixed with the painkillers, created a pleasant haze. Sam could hear everything---every creak and pop of the wooden walls---but his vision narrowed to just the table and the bottle.

In that state, he was mildly surprised to see Jo re-enter the room, since he hadn't heard her coming. He blinked blearily, trying to focus on her. She was getting better at sneaking around. Quieter.

Jo huffed in annoyance that was obvious even to Sam. "You shouldn't be up and around, Sam."

He shrugged. Jo was a little too good at killing buzzes for his taste.

She pulled the bottle away from him with a frown. "You shouldn't be drinking, either."

Wordlessly, he reached out, pulled the bottle from her hands, and crossed his arms around it. _My bottle, thank you very much_.

Muttering curses under her breath, Jo moved closer. Sam braced himself for a slap, not sure how much she cared about the bottle. If she hit him over it, he'd admit that he might have misjudged her level of concern over inventory.

She crouched with a sigh and raised his t-shirt to look at his wounds. "Sam, you've started bleeding again."

Sam looked down, then back at his bottle. _Hmm. I didn't even feel it_. _This is good stuff_. He took another swig. Jo growled---honest to God growled---and swiped the bottle from his hands, setting it on far side of the table. He slid one lazy arm over and retrieved it again. _My. Bottle_.

She was talking, angrily, but her words seemed to be rushing past him. He tried to understand, but was at a loss. "I should kick your ass, Sam. You're lucky Dean's not here or---"

He looked up at her when she broke off, the words still not sinking in. She seemed upset, now.

"Sam--- Oh, God…I don't know why--- I didn't mean that…."

Sam frowned at her. Her words had stopped making sense a few moments earlier. Exhaustion, and too much alcohol on top of medication, was catching up with him. He felt the bottle leave his slack fingers again, but didn't resist this time. Jo tugged at his arm.

"Come on, Sam. Lie back down."

When she pushed him down onto the cot this time, the darkness overcame him quickly. He blinked his eyes slowly, and each time, they stayed closed longer. The stiff, uncomfortable cot seemed to pull him deeper into the thin mattress with each breath.

He slept through most of the next day. Jo had settled down on a chair next him, but Sam didn't acknowledge the gesture. He woke several times, but kept still. He had nothing against Jo, but he wasn't ready to talk to her yet, either. It was less awkward to just pretend to sleep.

The wounds on his side were throbbing, aggravated by the fact that he was lying on that side. He didn't want to move, but he also couldn't take much more of the pain. Grunting as he turned, he gingerly rolled over onto his back.

Pretense was useless at that point, so he groggily glanced over at his "guardian." Jo was sitting in essentially the same place as the night before, texting on her cell. She noticed him immediately, exchanging the phone for some pills and a cup of water. Unwilling to argue, Sam took the meds and drained the cup.

"You okay?"

Sam frowned. "I'll live." It was the most miserable pronouncement he'd ever made. Like a jail sentence. He'd been judged guilty and sentenced to life alone in a world that hated him. That he hated back with equal venom.

Jo seemed to be reading his expression. She reached down and grabbed his arm, towing his barely responsive body off the bed. "Good. I need another favor."

Sam grimaced as the stitches pulled against the results of the last favor she asked for. Once he was on his feet, she led him toward a small washroom at the back of the room.

"I need a partner tonight."

"For what?" he mumbled, disinterest bleeding into his voice. His only plans were to get into the Impala and leave.

"Just get cleaned up. I got you some clothes," she pointed to the bathroom. "There's a shower in there, and some towels. Go on."

Her tone reminded him of Dean's. Whenever Sam was hurt or down, Dean tended to get bossy. It focused Sam, getting his mind onto some purpose other than whatever was bothering him. He was almost grateful to Jo for hitting that same chord---but he really didn't know what the hell she was up to, so he kept quiet.

Words were still coming slowly to him, so it took a moment for all of her comments to sink in. His brain snagged on the "clothes" part. He hadn't brought any inside with him. "Where'd you get my clothes?"

"Picked the lock on the trunk."

That annoyed him. Wasn't there a code or something about not breaking into another hunter's belongings? _Yeah_, he thought venomously. _It's in the book right after Never-let-your-brother-die-for-you. _

He really needed a drink.

The new dose of pain meds didn't help his hangover much, and his movements in the bathroom were sluggish and uncoordinated. After he changed his bandages and got dressed, he stepped out. Jo was waiting with his jacket.

"Ready?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, tired of the prodding. "Where are we going?"

"Out."

He really wasn't in the mood for this. "Out _where_?"

Jo sighed, looking suddenly shy. "I…need a date."

Sam stared at her, uncomprehendingly. She stepped forward, gripping his arms as if he was going to bolt. As her words sank in, he realized that it might be a good idea to do just that.

"Please, Sam? Please. We're just going to a movie. My two friends, they're a couple and if I don't have a date, I'm going to get lectured all night. Please."

"Jo…" Sam shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to be around anyone. He was beginning to regret answering his phone.

Jo released him, looking dejected. "It's okay. Really. Look, I just thought--- I just didn't want you to be alone. I can put up with them for one night."

Sam got the distinct impression that he'd hurt her feelings. Impossibly, that made him feel worse. After the incident with Meg, he didn't want to harm her any more. He sighed. "I'll go."

"Sam, you don't have---"

"I said I'll go," he restated firmly. Better to just get it over with so he could get out of here.

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_October 2008_

The DVDs---what few the store had---were displayed around the front counter above the candy bars and magazines. Most were from the 90s, pretty cheap, but nothing Sam or Dean would want to own. They didn't carry too many DVDs with them, and what few they did spent most of the time bouncing around in the trunk. He placed the beer on the counter and turned the rack to look at the selection.

The new release rack was skimpy, but Sam gave it a once over anyway. _Meet the Spartans, no, Ironman, __maybe__...The Strangers, __no...no...definitely no__...Indiana Jones. __Hmm__..._

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_May 2008_

They met the other two at the bar. Jo reminded him beforehand, unnecessarily, that they had already met the previous night, so that the greetings shouldn't be as awkward. He shrugged it off, not planning to talk much anyway. He just watched as they chattered endlessly about unimportant things. Things Sam couldn't have cared less about.

He quickly realized that Jo had told them more than just his name, judging on how they were walking on eggshells around him_. They know about Dean_. They obviously didn't know the whole story, but from the looks on their faces, they knew enough.

The revelation angered Sam a little. Jo had no business saying anything, and he didn't need their pity. What he did need was a drink, and he signaled the barkeeper for a shot. Jo stepped in.

"Uh, no, we don't have time. The movie starts in half an hour."

The other two shared a look, and Sam could practically feel the pity radiating off of them. He didn't look at either of them for the rest of the night; Jo was intuitive enough to sit between them and Sam at the theater.

He didn't realize what movie they are seeing until they're sitting in the seats and he glanced at the ticket Jo bought. _Indiana Jones._ His mind immediately rewound two months, when Dean had seen the first commercial on television.

_Aw, man. If I needed another reason to stay out of Hell, Sammy, it'd be that. That's gonna rock!_

Sam couldn't remember what he'd said back. He'd been driving hard to find a way out of the deal then, had been so focused that a lot of conversations had passed him by.

_So much wasted time.... _

The image on the screen began to swim, and Sam wondered what was wrong with it until Jo silently slipped a napkin into his hand. Reining in his emotions, Sam settled down into the seat, struggling to just watch the movie and not think.

It would have been a lot easier if he could get a drink.

_Russians instead of Germans…makes sense._

_Aliens?_

Sam's attention kept wandering. The sand pit scene would have made Dean laugh. The chase in the jungle was fun.

_Monkeys with Elvis haircuts? _Dean would have made fun of that.

Not thinking about Dean didn't seem to be working.

Jo seemed to read his distress. She slid her right arm beneath his left and took his hand in hers. Her other hand wrapped around his upper arm and she rested her head on his shoulder. For an irrational moment, he was concerned that she was coming onto him, until his brain caught up. Jess used to do the same thing. Those nights in college when he missed his family the most and depression nearly swallowed him whole.

He settled back and found it a little easier to focus on the movie.

_Flying saucers?_ Sam didn't get this movie at all.

He wondered if maybe he was watching it with the wrong person.

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_October 2008_

"Hey, mister. We're closing in a minute. You buying that or not?"

Sam blinked, glancing from the cashier to the DVD in his hand. "Oh...sorry. Yeah."

He piled his items on the counter and offered the bored looking cashier a smile. She was checking him out, but he ignored it. Unlike his brother, he didn't confuse real life with porn.

Often, anyway.

He paid up, thanked her and moved on. The sidewalks had emptied out. Apparently, everyone in town had found a spot in a tavern or restaurant this evening, if the cars parked along the foggy streets were any indication.

It was a ten minute walk back to the motel. Sam was in no hurry to return to an empty room---he'd done that enough for one year---so he settled into a comfortable walk and took in the local sights.

He wondered when Dean would get back. _Might be a long night_....

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It was only a few minutes after eleven when the motel room door opened and Dean walked in. Sam stopped fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle and looked up in surprise.

His brother shot him a look. "I figured you'd be asleep."

"Wish I could, m'tired," Sam slurred, shrugging one shoulder. The beer and pretzels had only kept him occupied for an hour or so, and there was nothing on TV. He'd tried to sleep twice, but his eyes had just stayed locked on the cracked ceiling. Finally, he'd given up.

Dean was looking at him again. Sometimes, Sam hated being stared at---since it seemed to happen a lot---but really, how could he complain? Two months earlier, he'd have gladly cut off an arm to have Dean in the room. Doing anything.

Sam nodded in the general direction of the tavern up the street. "Thought you were...you know."

"Eh," Dean slid his coat off and pulled at his tie. "Shot me down. I guess I'm a little rusty."

"So..." Sam smirked. "You're still...hymenated?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Your hymenation has _not_ abated..."

"Nope."

"Dean Winchester. Status: permanently re-hymenated---"

"Sam…you're drunk."

He shook his head sadly. "Yeah, I am. And bored."

Dean gave him a funny look, then frowned uncomfortably. "You could have stayed with me...I was only kidding about the Christian Scientist thing."

Sam looked up again, Dean appeared contrite. "Huh? No. No...I really did mean to come back here and sleep. Just...started thinking and..." He shrugged.

"You should stop doing that," Dean suggested, kicking his shoes off. "Thinking, I mean. Gets you in trouble."

"Yeah," Sam mused, picking at the label again. "Us freaks do think too much...."

Dean looked up sharply, and Sam only then realized what he'd said. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say that out loud."

The tension level in the room rose a notch, and Sam felt lower than he had all night. He'd been trying to keep the mood light since Carthage. _Another spectacular failure_. He took a celebratory drink in honor of yet another shortcoming.

His brother moved silently across the room and sat on his bed, facing Sam's. He gestured awkwardly at the beer. "Got another one of those?"

Sam thought for a moment. "Um...yeah, four, I think." He counted the empty bottles on the nightstand to be sure. _Yeah, four_.

Dean reached down into the open case and grabbed one, following Sam's gaze to the eight empties. "Jesus, Sammy...trying to forget today completely?"

He said nothing in response. _If you only knew_.... Unfortunately for him, alcohol didn't black out his memory. He kept trying---had been trying ever since May---but his memory was as exact as ever. He hated his brain almost as much as he hated the rest of the world. He didn't say any of that to his recently re-hymenated older sibling, though, fearing where a conversation like that would lead.

"There's pretzels...and candy...and some popcorn," Sam slurred, pointing at the dresser by the TV.

"What'd you do? Raid a convenience store?" Dean asked playfully.

"Drug store."

Dean looked back at him, smile fading. "Are you okay, Sammy?"

"Hunky-dory," Sam mock toasted him with the bottle. "Oh, I got you something."

It took longer than normal to cross the room---not Sam's fault the cheap-ass motel was spinning---but he made it to the dresser and managed to hand the bag to Dean without tripping, so he called it a success. He plopped back down on the bed as Dean opened it.

"Hey...the new Raiders movie!" Dean crowed. "Sammy, you didn't have to do this."

_Yes, I did. Like you said, I have no excuse. I shoulda waited._

Sam put on a smile. Much to his surprise, it wasn't completely faked. "Wanna watch it? I mean...unless the _dude _still needs to de-hymenate."

Dean grinned, practically ear-to-ear. "Nah, the dude will abide for tonight."

END


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